


Half Cut

by antioedipus



Category: Naruto
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Discussions of Novelty Sex Toys/Pornography, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Guy is present in his absence, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antioedipus/pseuds/antioedipus
Summary: Aoba and Anko compete to see who can get each other the wilder birthday present. This year, Aoba is determined to get Anko the 'best' birthday present. Asuma, Genma, Kakashi, and Raidou are just there when he finds it."The four of them look at Aoba with the same expression. Eyes wide, mouths slightly open, like they’re all little kids and Aoba told them where babies really come from (it was Raidou and Asuma’s respective older brothers who told them, and they all made the same expression as they do now: absolute bewilderment)."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Half Cut

“Kill people, burn shit, fuck school”

Earl Sweatshirt and Tyler, The Creator, “Pigions”

“Alas,” said the mouse, “the world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and the left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.” “You only need to change your direction,” said the cat, and ate it up.”

Franz Kafka, “A Little Fable”

Kakashi lies on the floor of Aoba’s bachelor apartment, on a fancy rug from Nepal that Aoba’s mom bought him when he moved in. It’s nice and thick, and Kakashi follows the lazy spin of the ceiling fan with his one good eye. Aoba is sitting on his bed, legs crossed, his computer on his lap, staring intensely at the screen, brows furrowed.

Genma sits on the floor, leaning against the wall, holding a glass pipe to his lips, sparking the lighter and taking a big inhale. Raidou is sitting beside him, waiting his turn to rip a bowl. Asuma, who, like Kakashi, is already contentedly stoned, is sprawled on the couch, smoking a cigarette. Aoba has the kind of comfy couch that makes you feel like you’re one with it.

“Your couch feels like a cloud,” Asuma says.

“Thank my parents,” Aoba says, “they gave it to me.” The five of them have been getting stoned on that couch since they were teenagers. _Let’s cut the bull like a matador_. When asked why he listens to a group that raps about sexual violence, Aoba replied that he loves rape in songs—joking, obviously—before pointing out that people are way more offended by sexual violence in art than they are when it happens. Art reflects what happens in society; Aoba thinks people should question social and material conditions instead of freaking out over art. Raidou bobs his head to the music, not really paying attention to any of the conversation.

“I can’t believe we listen to a band called Odd Future,” Genma says. Aoba is the only one who understands it, but he tells them what the lyrics mean when they ask.

“They’re not a band, they are a _collective_ ,” Aoba says, distracted, “besides, don’t you think the name is appropriate, considering how odd our future is?” They’ve survived a war, and there’s another on the way; Raidou is the oldest at twenty-five, and they have a bet that they will go to war again before he turns forty. None of them have bet that it won’t happen.

“An odd future, huh,” Asuma says.

“Kill people, burn shit, fuck school,” Aoba replies, “is that not the shinobi way, amigos?”

“There are a lot more rules than that,” Kakashi says, enjoying how heavy his body feels. It’s like he’s sinking into the floor. Genma passes Raidou the pipe, and he decides to just finish the bowl.

The five of them are here for various reasons. Asuma doesn’t like his dad. Genma likes the way pot makes the hairs on his arms prickle. Raidou finds it hard to relax after a hit. Aoba, whose parents are stoners, is a functional high person who smokes pot like some people drink coffee, when he’s off-duty. Kakashi just likes how it makes him feel like he’s buried underground and floating at the same time.

It’s rare for anyone else to join them. Kurenai and Shizune don’t like pot, Anko thinks the guys are boring when they’re high, Tenzou and Yuugao aren’t interested, Ibiki always turns down his invitation and Ebisu is never invited. If Obito were alive, he’d probably be here. Rin wouldn’t. But no one ever talks about them. Asuma, Raidou, Genma and Kakashi are here to avoid their lives and resist integrating their emotions. It’s working, in the sense that they are successful, but the coping mechanism has many obvious flaws.

Guy gets invited too, but he always cheerfully declines. He always has training or an old lady to help or chooses to spend time with his parents. The truth is he and the rest of the guys know that he wouldn’t really fit in here. He isn’t hollow or fake—Guy is who he is and likes who he is as a person. They all kind of resent him for it. He never withholds himself from his partners, always holding hands in public. He happily wakes up every morning and strives to be his best self. He’s always encouraging his friends, too. It makes them all feel ashamed that they’re jealous of his happiness.

Hayate likes to join them, but only when Yuugao isn’t around. He says the pot helps with his cough, but they think he, like them, just likes being stupid for a few hours. “Where’s Hayate?” Genma asks.

“Yuugao came back to the village last night,” Asuma says, “I saw them this morning. She doesn’t like it when he’s high.”

“Who has ever had a girlfriend who likes them stoned?” Genma asks. Asuma and Raidou snort, while Aoba smirks. Kakashi hums under his mask.

“Definitely not me,” Raidou says. Kurenai says he’s boring after he smokes pot, and they both agree that his dick being limp is an irritating side-effect, even though he’ll eat her out instead.

“Kurenai is Raidou’s girlfriend, and she still gets on my case,” Asuma huffs.

“It’s because she knows the two of you can’t afford to lose any more braincells,” Genma says. Raidou makes a face while Asuma’s mouth hangs open.

“That’s not true,” Asuma replies in a small voice. Aoba snorts.

“No one talks to either of you for your intellect. That’s like saying someone hangs out with Kakashi for his cheery demeanor.” After Aoba says this, Kakashi barks with laughter, and Genma cackles. Raidou elbows Genma, while Asuma stretches his leg from the couch, and kicks Kakashi in the side.

“What?” Genma says, “a good dunk is a good dunk! You two would be laughing your asses off if Aoba said something like that about me.” Raidou opens his mouth to respond, but Kakashi starts talking first.

“You know, I think, out of all of us, Guy is the one who’s the closest to perfect.” Kakashi rests his hands on his chest, saying this in a serious voice.

“I agree,” Aoba says, looking up from his computer. “He’s not a fuckface, he’s personable, happy to be alive, sex positive, doesn’t need substances to fill the inner void—.”

“I don’t think he ever had an inner void to start with,” Kakashi hums.

“Fine. No inner void whatsoever. Experiences no existential angst, or loneliness, or bitterness over all the fucked up shit this village makes us do. He’s not even emotionally paralyzed.” Aoba looks back at his computer, as everyone else nods.

“How the fuck did you get so wise, Aoba?” Asuma asks. Aoba was the kid who ate glue in class. No one thought he’d ever be particularly smart, let alone as insightful as he is. He even gives good advice, which often goes unappreciated because he is kinda stuck up when he gives it.

“It’s because I read books,” Aoba replies, “I’m _cultured_.” Stuck up and proud of it.

“You’re a pretentious asshole,” Genma snorts, picking up the glass of water beside him and sipping.

“Would a pretentious asshole be looking at Ovipositors online?” Aoba asks.

“An Ovi-what?” Asuma asks, not helping the perception of his intelligence.

“An Ovipositor,” Aoba says, “like, a giant egg-laying dildo.”

The four of them look at Aoba with the same expression. Eyes wide, mouths slightly open, like they’re all little kids and Aoba told them where babies really come from (it was Raidou and Asuma’s respective older brothers who told them, and they all made the same expression as they do now: absolute bewilderment).

“A dildo that lays eggs?” Raidou asks. Aoba nods.

“I am going to beat Anko this year,” he says, “I’m going to get her the better birthday present.” She won last year, when she snuck into Aoba’s apartment and put up nice, laminated pictures of hardcore pornography and erotic art inside the doors of every closet and cupboard of his tiny apartment. She even put one inside his bathroom door. There are multiple genres and fetishes covered. Aoba’s parents think they are an artistic statement—his mother, an art dealer, says that it’s very avant-garde. Anko floated for a week, from that comment alone. Aoba got her a penis candle, but it couldn’t compare. He will not be screwed this year and has done some research. He believes that he has found the perfect gift for Anko. “I could also buy her a tentacle dildo, or a werewolf cock, or—.”

“A werewolf what?” Raidou asks, not believing his ears.

“A werewolf cock,” Aoba says, “this company makes dildos for people who are into monsters, aliens, that kind of thing.”

“Someone wants to be fucked by a werewolf? There are people like that?” Asuma asks.

“You four are such normies,” Aoba says, picking up his phone. “The human mind is a beautiful, perverted, twisted thing and it will sexualize pretty much anything.” He begins to type out a message.

“I’m too fucked up for this conversation,” Genma says.

“I’m not fucked up enough,” Asuma sighs, standing up to get a glass of water. He walks over to the kitchenette, and sighs when he opens the cupboard to see a woman ensnared by tentacles, cheeks flushed and mouth open. “You really need to take these down.”

“See something you like?” Aoba asks, looking up from his phone. “They are free to a good home.” Asuma blushes, taking out a glass and closing the cupboard.

“No thanks,” Asuma says.

“You sure? Clotilde is pretty sexy,” Aoba says. Genma snickers.

“Clotilde?”

“I gave them all unique and memorable names,” Aoba replies, “no Japanese names, because I would feel awkward running into someone with the same name as one of the pictures.”

“But Clotilde?” Raidou asks.

“It’s French,” Aoba says, “and I think it’s pretty. It’s not a weird name at all. I’m not Peter Abelard, who named his kid Astrolabe, which is like naming your kid Microwave or Dishwasher of Rice Cooker.” Aoba always brings up these little pieces of trivia, not to be pretentious, but because all sorts of facts live rent free in his brain and he likes to share them.

Aoba’s mom took him with her when she travelled for work. He’s the only one of their group of friends to leave Japan. He will frequently say things like ‘the west isn’t a Studio Ghibli movie or Disneyland theme park,’ or ‘westerners aren’t all bovine,’ or ‘it’s not all buffets and fancy paintings and rap music and capitalist decadence over there.’ None of them really care, but they let him speak his truth.

“Where do you keep all of that information?” Genma rolls his eyes.

“Ah, mein kinder, as I said earlier, I just read a lot of books,” Aoba says, looking at his phone.

“You’re such a nerd,” Genma replies, stretching his legs out in front of him as Asuma fills his glass with water.

“Joke’s on you, knowing about more than how to be a ninja is why I can date women with civilian careers where we don’t sit and poke at each other’s trauma.” If trauma degrades DNA, then Aoba’s mother gave him the greatest gift of all: being the product of one, instead of two damaged people.

“You don’t date,” Asuma says, “you and Anko go around terrorizing the rest of us.”

“She’s going to be so annoying if you get her that egg-laying thing,” Raidou sighs. He can see it now: Anko constantly asking if she can lay an egg in someone. Raidou is already emotionally exhausted.

“I’m actually texting Kurenai and Shizune, to see whether I should get the Ovipositor or the tentacle dildo.” Aoba finishes typing out his message, and hits send.

“Why them?” Genma asks.

“Because I’m pretty sure they talk about this kind of thing with Anko,” Aoba says.

No one says anything, and they all slump down. Aoba moves his computer off of his lap and lies down on his bed. Asuma lies down on the couch, while Raidou stares into the middle distance ahead of him. Genma lies down beside him, looking up at the ceiling. Kakashi stretches his arms out on either side, opening his heart, so to speak. They lie down in silence, letting the pot make them all feel like they are stuck in a hot, sticky tarpit. The ceiling fan makes a rickety sort of noise, which is why Aoba can’t sleep with the fan on, but it’s kind of soothing right now.

Aoba hums to himself, before speaking. “Do you want to hear a story my mom used to tell me?”

“Do we have a choice?” Genma asks.

“I second that,” Asuma says, rubbing his eyes.

“Let the man speak,” Kakashi says. Raidou says nothing, his way of agreeing with Kakashi.

“So, she used to read me stories written by this Czech writer who no one thinks ever smiled,” Aoba begins, “he wrote this story about a mouse.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Genma says, before Raidou thumps him and puts a finger over his lips. Genma frowns and crosses his arms.

“It’s not what you think,” Aoba says, “I think about this story at least once a day.”

“Can you just tell us what it is?” Asuma asks, “I want to take a nap.”

“Whatever,” Aoba says, “so, there’s this mouse, who was so terrified of the world, he kept running and running and running forward. As he kept running, he felt some relief as it grew smaller and smaller, but as the walls started closing in, he became even more afraid, running faster and faster. Eventually, he reached the last room to find that the only place he could run was into a trap.”

“When does this get interesting?” Genma asks.

“You keep rushing me,” Aoba huffs, “so, this cat joins the mouse, which is when the mouse tells the cat of how scared he had been at the beginning, and how frightened he is now that he’s reached the end, as there is nowhere for him to go but into this trap. He’s reached a dead-end. There is nowhere else for him to go.”

“Your mother told you this story?” Asuma asks, “what was she trying to do?”

“Will you two just listen?” Raidou huffs.

“Who hasn’t felt like that mouse?” Kakashi hums, “Aoba, please continue.”

“So, this mouse told the cat his problem—that the big, scary world has narrowed down to this dead end, and there is nowhere for him to go but into the trap,” Aoba says, “the cat tells him that the only thing he can do is change his direction, then the cat gobbles him up.”

“The cat eats him?” Genma asks, sitting up. He feels like he has been ripped off.

“Swallowed whole,” Aoba says, “no matter where you go, there you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Asuma asks, “what kind of story is that?”

“It’s about the human condition,” Aoba sits up, “that you are what you are, and no matter what you do, or how fast you run, you already are who you are.” _No matter where you go, there you are_ : that’s what Aoba learned from fucking off to North America for a year.

“That’s stupid,” Genma says, “already are what you are. No duh.” Having a mom as cool as Aoba’s clearly comes with some drawbacks.

“Is it?” Aoba asks, “I mean, think about it. We spend all our time pretending we’re not afraid, but we are. We learn new jutsu and look for new ways to get out of traps and stay alive, but none of us are looking ahead, beyond the next mission.”

“Don’t forget about how we’re frightened of our feelings,” Kakashi hums. Being stoned makes self-awareness less painful. “We’re all here because we are cowards.”

“It’s true,” Aoba says, “only the cowardly pretend they aren’t afraid.” Kakashi lifts his fist into the air.

“This man speaks the truth.”

“What’s wrong with you, Kakashi?” Asuma asks, “you’re never this—.”

“Vulnerable?” Kakashi asks. “It’s because I know you’re all afraid like me.” He thinks the five of them are more than a little pathetic, to be frank. If Kurenai and Shizune were here, they would roll their eyes and say that duh, of course they’re afraid, the only way you can be brave is if you are afraid in the first place. Anko would smirk and tell them to stop being so pitiful, while Ibiki would have just walked out the door. Yuugao and Tenzou would probably shrug. Hayate would smile. Guy would walk around and help them all up to their feet and declare that they should go get something to eat. He’s that kind of friend.

“Well, this is a fucking bummer,” Genma sighs, standing up. He stretches, revealing the bellybutton piercing Kurenai gave him when they were seventeen.

No matter how big and strong they become, they have never outgrown fear. It just grew with them, maturing, becoming more complex. Mutated is the word. Their fear is always with them, and indeed, maybe their fear is a part of their personalities. They’ve all felt, at times, like they are just running headlong into the trap they are trying to avoid. It’s kind of dumb, being a ninja and trying to avoid death when it’s a pretty much part of the job. It’s even worse, because all their living family and friends (except Aoba’s mom, who has always been a civilian, and Genma’s mom, who retired when he was born) are working shinobi.

Genma walks over to the fridge to break into the beer he brought with him, when Aoba’s phone starts buzzing. Asuma rubs his face while Raidou yawns, as Aoba stares at the screen.

“It’s unanimous,” Aoba says, “Ovipositor wins.”

“For our sakes, I hope she doesn’t beat you,” Kakashi says.

“I shudder to think of what could beat the Ovipositor,” Asuma says.

“What are the eggs even made of?” Raidou asks, “are they silicone?” Aoba shakes his head, while Genma frowns at Raidou.

“I guarantee the answer is going to gross us out,” he says, “thanks Raidou.”

“Hey, I just want to make sure Anko doesn’t have to take an embarrassing trip to the hospital,” Raidou says.

“They’re gelatin,” Aoba says, “it comes with a mold. She can make her own eggs, squirt them up there, and they dissolve.”

“So, they are just going to leak out?” Raidou makes a face, “I guess it’s better than them getting stuck up there.”

“Can we stop thinking about her using that dildo?” Asuma asks, “it’s an image that I can live without.”

“I don’t know what surprises me more; that Asuma is such a prude or that Raidou doesn’t bat an eye at the thought of Anko laying gelatin eggs in herself.” Aoba says, “Raidou, I bet you’re a real freak.”

“A grade A pervert,” Genma says, pulling the tab of his beer can.

“Whatever,” Raidou says, choosing not to respond.

“You know, it was Kurenai who chose Clotilde,” Aoba says, “do you two sometimes pretend you’re a tentacle monster?”

Aoba laughs when Raidou sends a kunai hurling past his ear; he’d be afraid if Raidou had intended to hit him.

**Author's Note:**

> `\\_('-')_/`
> 
> This story has been in my head for a month. Quarantine is slowly, but surely, turning my brain into goo.


End file.
